


Good for the Soul

by akelios



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Clothed Sex, Frottage, Kinkmeme, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prayer can help despair. So can simple human contact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good for the Soul

I was driving by Saint Mary's on my way home and noticed that the lights were on inside. That was weird. Weird enough to make me pull into the parking lot, the Beetles' lights off. It was close to midnight and Saint Mary's wasn't one of those churches that stayed open all night for believers to come in and pray. I knew that Father Forthill was out of town, Michael had mentioned some sort of priest convention or retreat.

I had my staff and rod ready and snuck up to the church. Here's something people don't think about: stained glass windows are pretty, but they're not very good for spying through. The colors and waves in the glass warp everything. I could see the dark shapes of the pews, vague shifts of light. Maybe from candles. Maybe from people. The grass crunched under my feet as I moved back onto the sidewalk, keeping myself low, as low as possible anyway and went to the first side door. It was locked. I tried the next two and found them locked as well. Okay. Breaking into a church definitely fell under the heading of 'bad'. But letting something bad happen in a church would be even worse.

The wood of the door was warm beneath my palm as I pressed my hand flat next to the handle. I pushed a little bit of my will out, grasped the push bar on the other side in my mind and whispered, “ _Forzare_.” The creak of the door swinging open was quiet and I grabbed at it, pulling it nearly closed again, holding it open just enough to keep it from locking. I waited a handful of heartbeats, until I was as certain as anyone could be that no one was rushing to investigate the noise.

The church was mostly dark, with only the lights around the altar itself lit and a few candles here and there. A priest I didn't recognize was incensing the altar, moving slowly and swinging the censor, speaking softly to himself. I didn't see anything weird going on, but I moved through the shadows at the back of the church, looking to see what there was to see. By the time I'd moved across the space to where the stairs up into the choir loft stood the priest had finished incensing and was now standing at the altar, facing away from the pews.

“ _Kyrie, eleison_.” The priest raised his voice, just enough so that it could be heard echoing through the empty space. One of the angels that served as a holy water fount was staring at me out of the shadows, an uncomfortable feeling given that I knew the real thing.

“ _Christe, eleison_.” I heard a second voice, soft and likely inaudible to anyone who wasn't standing right under the stairwell. It echoed the priest on the second line and I turned my head toward the darkness of the stairs. The priest didn't even seem to notice it. So he either didn't hear the person or he knew they were there. I was moving up the stairs before I'd even thought about it. I'd check it out. It was probably nothing and I'd slip back out without anyone noticing.

“ _Kyrie, eleison. Christe, audi nos_.”

“ _Christe, exaudi nos_.” The man in the choir loft was kneeling, leaning against the railing. His head was bowed over his hands but I could see the glint of his eyes from beneath his lowered brows. He was staring at the priest as though he could will his desire into the man and through him to God. I didn't need better lighting to recognize him.

“ _Pater de coelis Deus_ ,” The priest's voice rose, limbered up. He was getting into this. My Latin was wobbly, but good enough to get the general idea.

“ _Misere nobis_.” 'Have mercy on us' whispered past Marcone's lips.

“ _Fili, Redemptor mundi, Deus_ ,”

“ _Misere nobis_.” I moved and let my shoe scuff against the tile. Marcone's head never moved, but he tensed and shifted, his hands coming down off the railing. I knew he had one hand on a weapon now. Likely one of his knives. He'd be able to kill me and get back to praying without ever disturbing the priest.

“ _Spiritus Sancte, Deus, Sancta Trinitas, unus Deus, Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis_.”

“ _Ora pro nobis_.” 'Pray for us'. I set my rod and staff against the wall and moved slowly forward until I was close enough he could see me well enough to identify me. He nodded and his hand eased away from whatever was in his coat.

“ _Sancta Dei Genitrix_ ,”

“ _Ora pro nobis_.” I took a seat a few rows behind him and waited. Marcone crossed himself and slipped out of the front pew, coming back to my row. He knelt, crossed himself again and then slid in beside me.

“ _Sancta Virgo virginum, Sancte Michael, Sancte Gabriel, Sancte Raphael, Omnes sancti Angeli et Archangeli, Omnes sancti beatorum Spiritum ordines_.” I let the Latin roll over me, tuned it out enough that it became pretty, meaningless noise.

“So this is why you told me not to come over.” I leaned my shoulder into his, bringing our heads close enough together to keep the conversation to a whisper.

“She's taken a bad turn. They've had to put her on a ventilator again. Her doctor is talking in terms of when now, not if. I needed-” He sighed and shook his head. Marcone needed to do something, even though there was nothing he could do.

“ _Omnes sancti Apostoli et Evangelistae_ ,”

I took his hand in mine and slowly unclenched it, stretching his fingers out until I could wrap our hands together, my thumb making small circles on the back of his hand. John turned to look at me and I leaned in to kiss him. He jerked back after a split second, his eyes wide and flicking to the side to glance down at the priest.

“Harry!” His outrage made his whisper harsh and loud enough to attract attention if there had been anyone there to notice. I smiled and let go of his hand to take his head between my palms and hold him still.

“I have it on very good authority that He doesn't mind, John.” I kissed him again and this time he didn't pull away. His lips, a little dry and rough, worked against mine before he finally let me in, opening reluctantly. The tension in his body sang through him, translating itself into my hands, my mouth and I pressed harder, willing it away.

I pulled away for a breath and John followed me, twisting and turning us until I was lying back on the narrow bench with him above me. His green eyes were wide, wild. I reached up and pulled him back down to me, pressing our bodies together from hips to lips.

“ _Omnes sancti Martyres_ ,”

The priests chanting rose and fell around us as we breathed one another in, clothes rough and restrictive, the wood of the pew hard against my back, my hands tangled in John's short hair, pulling at him. Our grunts and moans were muffled, groaned into each others mouths as I arched my hips up into his and he ground down into me.

I panted beneath him and tried to slip a hand between us, to fumble at our flies. John caught my wrist and jerked my arm up, over my head and pinned it there against the pew in front of us. He growled and somehow shifted his angle. Made it harder, deeper somehow. I gasped and rolled my hips. John's fingers tightened on my wrist, pressed it harder into the wood and I tried to go still. It was impossible, but I managed to stop working against him.

“ _Omnes sancti Monachi et Eremitae_ ,”

Friction, just short of the bad side of pain. The heat and sweat and that little thrill up your spine that told you you were doing something forbidden even though you didn't really care. It was all there, perfect in my mind, in my body and I knew it was there in John's. On top of all the tension, the pain and guilt and anger and sorrow that he felt and couldn't let himself show. We fucked against one another through a sea of emotions, letting it tighten against our skin and light up each nerve ending. I pulled it all in, pulled at the power around us and held on to it.

“ _Omnes Sancti et Sanctae Dei, intercedite pro nobis_.”

I came, warm and liquid and delicious, biting John's lip so I wouldn't cry out and give us away. There was the barest hint of blood in my mouth as he tucked his head into my shoulder, tight and tense as his hips slowed, rolling against me in movements that took forever; two, three, four more times and then I felt the power around us flare up, a brilliant spike in the darkness. We grew hotter, stickier in pulses of pleasure.

“ _Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, exaudi nos, Domine_.”

I pulled all that energy in, spooled it together with my own magic, with the barest hint of Soulfire and whispered, “ _Flickum bickus_.” Every candle in the church sparked into life, warm orange and red flames around a tiny core of silver light.

“Mother of God!” The priest broke off his chanting, startled, and I heard the twin thuds of his knees hitting tile. Then furious, unintelligible mutterings. Praying, I would bet. I laughed into John's hair.

“Shit.” He elbowed me as he pushed back, sitting up and glaring down at me. It didn't really take though. John was too loose right at the moment to be truly angry. “You just can't help yourself, can you?”

“Hey! I have plenty of control.” I pushed myself up and stood, wrapping my coat around me to hide the wet stain. “Look at it. It's beautiful. We did that.” John stood himself and went over to the railing, looking down.

“It is beautiful. But I think you've broken Father Anthonio.”

“He'll recover. A little jolt of faith won't hurt him.” I found John's own coat and brought it over to him. At least it wasn't Hellfire I was using anymore.

“You'd best leave. I'll speak to him before Mr. Hendricks arrives.”

“You'll be okay.” It wasn't a question and neither of us pretended it was meant to be. John sighed and nodded. I draped his coat over the railing beside his hand, brushed my fingers over his bare wrist and headed out, collecting my staff and rod as I went.

At the bottom of the stairs I paused and felt a little heat rush up into my face. Father Forthill was sitting on the bottom step. He turned at the soft sounds of my footsteps and raised his eyebrows at me, a faint smirk curling his lips.

“Harry.”

“Father.” I tipped an imaginary hat at him and walked quickly on by. I'm sure I was imagining the quiet snickers behind me as I slipped back out into the night.


End file.
